


A Grand Dead Eye

by silverr



Category: Original Work
Genre: Chocolate Box Treat, F/F, Identity Porn, Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-11
Updated: 2020-02-11
Packaged: 2021-02-28 04:01:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,114
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22667410
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silverr/pseuds/silverr
Summary: She had only ever supped on those whose blood was steeped in guilt and envy and hatred: the blood of the innocent and kind-hearted and noble-minded was too bland for her palate. Such discernment was sadly lacking everywhere these days, it seemed: most humans couldn't tell the difference between Jamaican Blue Mountain Estate and the horrifying sludge that came out of vending machines.
Relationships: Original Female Character/Original Female Character, Vampire/Human - Relationship
Comments: 8
Kudos: 36
Collections: Chocolate Box - Round 5





	A Grand Dead Eye

**Author's Note:**

  * For [darlingargents](https://archiveofourown.org/users/darlingargents/gifts).



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When she reached the shop she saw that, once again, Jeremy had left early, leaving the lights blazing behind the locked front door as if that alone constituted being open. What was the good of advertising themselves as a 24-hour business if that wasn't true?

Still, it wasn't as if there were customers lined up on the sidewalk. A light sleet and relentless wind had scrubbed the city of foot traffic in the hours after sunset; she had not seen a single living thing during her walk. Not even a cat.

With a sigh she dug out her keys and unlocked the front door, but paused before she went in, savoring one last look down the hill at the city. _Her_ city. Vital, dangerous, unpredictable. Most beautiful at night, twinkling like gems on velvet. Every light a home; every home wrapped around at least one warm-blooded creature.

She still thought of them as hers, too.

She cut the lights down to two banks; the hanging lamps over the front row of tables, and the pinpoint cans that highlighted the nearly-empty pastry case. She checked the restroom — at least Jeremy had been bored enough to mop before he left — wiped down the tables and counters, made sure all the equipment was on standby, then pulled the barstool to the penumbra of the pastry case light and sat down. She'd been trying to re-read _Мёртвые души,_ one of the few books Elias and Silvanus had saved from the flames when her estate was torched during the revolution. She had hoped it would bring back happier memories of the old country, but all it was doing was reminding her that all the truly splendid empires had fallen. Gone were the days of grand balls, of civilized elegance, of noble standards; now, the brutish Aasfresser ran free, drinking only pregnant women, children, and family pets: they had no pride; no propriety. _She_ had only ever supped on those whose blood was steeped in guilt and envy and hatred, as the blood of the innocent and kind-hearted and noble-minded was too bland for her palate. Such discernment was sadly lacking everywhere these days, it seemed: more than half the population couldn't tell the difference between Jamaican Blue Mountain Estate and the horrifying sludge that came out of hospital vending machines.

She was working herself up into a boil of indignation when the front door opened.

The young woman that shambled in looked frightful. Untamed black hair, rainbow tipped; a predictably battered leather jacket. Hiking books. A too-tight t-shirt that stretched grudgingly over her breasts and refused to cover the alluring strip of light brown skin above the waistband of her grungy jeans. Not really worthy of notice, except that she was fragrant with blood; fresh, not menstrual.

The aroma made Lucine's teeth ache.

"You're open, right?" the young woman asked. Her voice was pleasant, a gravelly contralto. She was older than Lucine had thought at first; early-to-mid twenties, perhaps.

"The door is at least," Lucine said, remembering at the last minute not to smile. "What can I get you?"

"Caffeine." She slumped against the counter and pushed up her sleeve. "Can I get an IV?"

"Sounds like an emergency."

"It is." She yawned, and rested her head on her upper arm, stretching out her long, smooth neck like a willing sacrifice. There was a deep abrasion just under her jaw; a sluggish drip trickled down like a crimson stalactite.

And then Lucine noticed the crucifix earrings.

She turned and took down the French press, concentrating on grinding the beans, measuring accurately, selecting the right temperature from the hot water dispenser, and setting the timer. While the coffee brewed she reset the grinder, making enough for three shots of espresso.

As she worked she watched the young woman's reflection in the tilted strip of mirror above the work area. She was only pretending to rest; the arm not on the counter was stealthily moving to take something out of her pocket, and her eyelids were open just enough to watch Lucine.

Ah. So that's how it was. Lucine kept her back turned as she made the shots of espresso, making it clear that she was not going to fall into the trap by taking the bait so enticingly presented.

The timer went off and the young woman pretended to be startled awake. It was a nice touch.

Lucine pressed down the plunger then turned, an empty paper cup in her hand, "Name?"

"Huh?"

"For the cup," Lucine said, wiggling it. "I always write the customer name on the cup."

The young woman frowned, pretending to be puzzled. "Even if I'm the only customer here?"

Lucine gave a diffident shrug. "I could get fired for not following the rules."

She raised an eyebrow. "Is your manager here?"

"No, but I have standards." This one... oh, this one was _wily._ It seemed she knew the old rules, knew that giving someone your true name was far more than a trivial exchange of information: it was a moment of power. When forced by an enemy, it was a surrender; when offered freely, it was an overture of trust. Which would this parley be? "Lucine," she said at last. "Your turn."

"Buffy," the young woman said with a half smirk as she straightened up. "Buffy Summers."

"I see. Well, _Buffy_ , I see your point, and so I am not even going to bother writing a name on this cup. It's just the two of us here, after all." Lucine leaned sideways — "Buffy" tensed microscopically; not as tired as she was pretending to be — to grab a stack of paper napkins. "Here. Use these. You're bleeding. Under your jaw." 

"Oh, thanks." She took the napkins with her visible hand — the other hand, still out of sight below the counter, was probably clutching a stake — and pressed them against the wound. "Actually I was kidding. I'm not Buffy, I'm Alexa. And just so you know, I was named that _way_ before Amazon ruined it."

Lucine turned back to the French press, poured the coffee out into the cup, then added the three shots of espresso. "Alexa. A very strong name. It means 'protector of mankind.' " She turned and set the cup in front of Alexa with a flourish. "This should wake you up."

Alexa took the napkins away from her neck, folded them in half with the bloody smear inside, then set them down on the counter before reaching for the cup. After a tentative sip she sighed happily. "Ambrosia."

"Coffee plus three shots of espresso," Lucine said. "It's called a dead eye."

"Weird name," Alexa said, sipping again, "but so good. So, _so_ good. Loads better than a Unicorn Frappuccino."

"Do you want a one-day old stale pastry to go with it?"

"Sure." Alexa brought her other hand up into view — empty — and pushed the folded napkins toward Lucine. "You can throw these away. I think I've stopped bleeding." 

So she had left the stake in her jacket pocket. Had she decided Lucine was not a threat? Or did she perhaps know who Lucine was, yet saw the value in a truce?

Lucine took a cheese danish from the pastry case, put the plate down in front of Alexa, then swept the folded napkins into the trash with the side of her hand. 

"Your accent's cool," Alexa said around a mouthful of pastry. 

"I'm from Armenia, originally," Lucine said, "but I've lived in many places over the years."

"How long have you been here?" Alexa was now shamelessly licking crumbs and remnants of frosting from her fingers. She was certainly enjoying herself.

"A few months," Lucine said. "The owner invited me to come in for an interview. I liked the hours."

"Actually, I meant how long have you been in the city?"

"A few years," Lucine took the empty plate. 

"I'm surprised I haven't seen you before, then," Alexa said. "I'm sure I would have remembered you."

"I mostly keep to myself," Lucine said.

"How long do you think you'll stay?" Alexa asked. She picked up the cup and took a long swallow, her eyes flicking from the mirror to the polished steel fronts of the machines behind the counter. She seemed surprised that Lucine had a reflection. 

"Long enough to fall in love with the city," Lucine said, sitting back on her barstool and folding her arms. Far enough back to be out of what used to be called attack range, and was apparently now called personal space.

"Really?" 

"Oh yes. Despite those elements that want to tear it down and harm its citizens."

"I hear you," Alexa said, taking another swallow of her coffee. "I ran into some of those elements tonight."

"Oh? On your way to… your night job?"

Alexa locked eyes with her. Extraordinary eyes, lovely, light green flecked with brown and blue. "Yeah," she said after a long pause. "Some jerk named Ass Fresher got in my way. What kind of stupid name is Ass Fresher, anyhow? Was Stale Ass taken?"

Oh, the humor of contemporary youth. Vulgar, yes, but also unexpectedly charming. _"Aasfresser,"_ Lucine said. "German for 'carrion eater.' "

"Oh. So you know him?"

"I know he has a gang of hoodlums that prey on innocent people. On the weak and defenseless."

"Not a fan?"

"No," Lucine said. "He spouts Darwinian bullshit," — Alexa's eyes widened a little at the obscenity — "but really he's just a bully who only wants to fight if the odds are piled high in his favor. People like him have no appreciation for the art of combat between equals."

Alexa tilted her head and asked, with mock disbelief, "So you're into MMA?" 

Lucine laughed, not bothering to hide her teeth. "No, not really."

"But you'd like to see him taken down?" Alexa asked, suddenly serious. The hunter, too, had come out of hiding.

"Yes," Lucine said. "I would. Very much. He has humiliated me on a number of occasions." Not only that, she was certain that Aasfresser and his cronies had prejudiced the Dark Council against her, eventually leading to her forced abdication.

"If only," Alexa looked down at her cup, "if only the police knew where his base was, I'll bet they'd do something." Catlike, she delicately licked non-existent foam off the edge of her cup, then looked up at Lucine. 

Lucine began tingling in a most pleasurable way. "Now that you mention it, I _have_ heard rumors that Aasfresser has taken over the abandoned warehouses in the old meat-packing district on the south side," she said carefully. "I've even heard that he and the lazy assholes who do his bidding regularly sleep all day."

"Really?" Alexa was fighting a smile. "I guess that happens after you drink yourself into a stupor."

"Indeed it does," Lucine assured her. "Why, they are so out of it once the sun comes up that they probably wouldn't wake up even if they were set on fire."

"That's some pretty intense imagery." Alexa finished off her dead eye, then held up the empty cup. "Any chance I could get another jolt for the road?"

"Of course," Lucine said. She made sure to brush against Alexa's warm, warm fingers as she took the cup.

"And," Alexa shifted from foot to foot. "Can I use the bathroom before I go?"

Lucine tossed her the key, and Alexa hurried off.

After placing the refilled cup back on the counter — pressing the lid down firmly, of course —Lucine turned to put the used espresso pucks into the knock box.

Alexa reappeared. She'd washed the rest of the blood from her jaw, finger-combed her hair, and pulled her shirt down. "I guess I'd better get going," she said as she took the coffee. "Do, um, do you usually work this shift?"

"Yes." Lucine said, wrapping up the last pastry in a napkin and holding it out. "The graveyard shift, isn't it called? Such a whimsical name."

"Yeah." Alexa took the wrapped pastry and shoved it into her jacket pocket. "Well, I'll probably see you again one of these days. Or nights."

Yes, it would be quite enjoyable to partner with a beautiful young warrior once again. "I would like that," Lucine said. "Come by any time you need intravenous caffeine."

"Will do." Alexa paused in the doorway, "Hey, so does Lucine mean anything?"

"Moon."

"Huh. Pretty name," Alexa said, and then she went through the door and out into the night.

Lucine watched until she was out of sight, and then, humming happily, she wiped the last crumbs from the empty pastry case, brewed herself a dead eye, and returned to Chichikov until the predawn shift arrived to relieve her.

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_~ The End ~_

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©2020

**Author's Note:**

> Мёртвые души = _Mjórtvyje dúshi (Dead Souls),_ a novel by Nikolai Gogol, first published in 1842.
> 
> Grateful thanks to **talkingtothesky** and **Gauss** for beta, and to barista **Landry** for professional advice.


End file.
